


a tired song

by Sylv



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-10
Updated: 2014-04-10
Packaged: 2018-01-18 20:33:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1441924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sylv/pseuds/Sylv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Her eyes are blue now.</p><p>[Allison, Derek, and the aftermath of her first full moon.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	a tired song

She should have known better.

She knows what happened with Scott—she heard Stiles tell the story through gritted teeth and fake laughter at the memory. Her own father has regaled her tales of werewolves with no control over themselves who went on rampages and woke up surrounded by bodies. She is immersed in a pack of werewolves, and she should have known better.

Still, Allison always feels like she has to prove something; to everyone else, to herself. That she is strong, and she is in control, and she can take care of herself because she can’t be weak again, she refuses to be weak again.

But when she comes out of her haze with blood coating her hands and a copper taste in the back of her mouth, she can’t find it in herself to cry, even. Her mind is silent, except for the resounding words in her brain:

_She should have known better._

So she runs to the only person she knows who has dealt with this before, and ends up pounding on Derek’s front door. Her throat is closing up, it’s hard to breathe, and something is stinging at the corners of her eyes, but she still feels gloriously, mercifully blank.

When Derek opens the door his eyes widen and his nostrils flair, and she doesn’t have to say anything for him to know exactly what happened. He steps aside to let her in, and Allison heads straight for the kitchen. He follows more slowly, and when she hears his footsteps on the linoleum behind her she is already standing at the sink, scrubbing her hands under steaming hot water.

“Allison,” he says, twisting the knobs on the sink so that the water is no longer scalding.

She shakes her head and doesn’t answer, because the blood looks like it is gone from her skin but she can feel it underneath her nails and seeping down into her pores, and she wants to get it out.

They’re reading Macbeth in school this week. She has to laugh, because isn’t that just ironic ( _and not at all what she should be thinking about_ ).

She must sound slightly hysterical since Derek turns off the water and draws her hands between his gently. He dries them with a dishtowel, pressing with a delicacy she didn’t know that he possessed, and she watches his fingers work. They’re sure, strong, and his thumb runs across the back of her hand in a gesture that Allison finds is more reassuring than it should be.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, and then flinches because she sounds so broken, and that’s not how she should be sounding in front of this man who she doesn’t really like and definitely doesn’t trust.

Derek’s eyes flicker up to hers for a moment before he looks back down at her hands. With one firm squeeze he lets them go, and they drift slowly back down to Allison’s sides. He makes a weak motion towards one of the chairs at the kitchen table, but Allison can’t sit. Doesn’t want to sit when there is a body ripped to pieces out there and it’s her fault.

God, she should have known better.

Derek sits, and Allison’s eyes follow his motions. Arms crossing over the chest, eyebrows rising, lips parting slightly, furrowed brow… it’s amazing how many things she can see that she didn’t see before that seem so _obvious_ now.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No,” Allison answers automatically, even though she isn’t sure if that’s exactly true. She licks her lips and her mouth still tastes like blood and there is a sudden fear that her clothes are covered in it. But when she looks down, there is nothing. At least she makes clean kills.

Her stomach lurches immediately after she has that thought, and she hates herself a little bit. This is when the tears come. She angrily wipes them away from her cheeks, but they won’t stop, and eventually she lets them fall, staring at the ground.

“I killed someone.”

He knows, he doesn’t answer, but he needed to hear it out loud. Or maybe she needed to hear it out loud. Or something like that. Her breathing hiccups and the room is way too small.

Derek doesn’t tell her that it’s okay, because it isn’t. Allison is grateful for that.

;;

He should have known better.

Young werewolves always think that they have their transformations under control and they never do. Every single time they don’t have someone there to keep an eye on them, they run wild and do things that will haunt them when the moon sets again.

After Allison was turned he had promised himself that he would watch her, because she needed watching. Her initial struggle over whether or not to kill herself was worrisome enough. Nights were spent hovering outside of her house listening to her deep breathing and hoping that he wouldn’t hear her heartbeat stop altogether, until she caught him and told him to get off of her lawn.

He did. If she was angry enough to tell him to get lost, she had to be feeling a little better about the situation.

Derek had let his guard down though; over that hurdle, it hadn’t even occurred to him that her first transformation was coming up, and she had been left to her own devices. He curses himself to hell and back in his head for forgetting while he watches her stand helplessly in his kitchen.

He hadn’t been surprised when she had shown up at his door—he could hear and smell her coming as soon as she came onto the block.

He should have known better.

And now Allison is crying in the middle of his kitchen, head hanging down, hand still red from where it looked like she had been trying to scrub the skin right off. She smells of fear, but not of panic, not yet.

That will come later.

When she manages to look up at him again, her eyes are bloodshot and puffy, and she looks smaller than he has seen her in a long time, vulnerable. The thought makes him uncomfortable ( _why is she showing him this part of her?_ ).

Tonight, after he has put her to bed, he will call Scott. They will have to decide what to do about the situation; as much as they might care about Allison, the death of a random innocent can’t be covered up for that reason alone. He can hear the stunned silence on the other end of the phone already.

For now, Derek’s mind sifts through his options: tea, food, a blanket, bed, distraction, discussion. He makes no move to do anything, and Allison doesn’t either, just stares at him, mouth turned down at the corners.

Her eyes will be blue now, he realizes.

Like mine.


End file.
